


Beneath this Crown

by winterscaptsam



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bucky Barnes Feels, Forbidden Love, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Sam Wilson Feels, Sambucky Big Bang 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26929654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterscaptsam/pseuds/winterscaptsam
Summary: Sam traces his fingers from James’ hairline, down to his jaw, resting the pad of his thumb on James lips. He will let himself relish in this feeling. Not even the sculptors, painters or poets could carve their words and materials to accurately describe this.“Do you think the history books will remember us?” Sam had once asked. And James’ words were made of the purest of golds, “my love, we will be legends for the children yet to come.”OrSam Wilson and Bucky Barnes' love story, one a prince and the other a knight.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 19
Kudos: 34





	Beneath this Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to both my beta reader @OutcastAngel (on AO3) and the beautiful art by @whoisnivelle (on tumblr) 💕
> 
> For the Sambucky Big Bang 2020!!

A sweet thought: they speak promises of the new world of tomorrow. A kingdom that is fair and just to all its people, where love is nothing of the sort to fear. Yet, here is the tragedy; it isn't theirs to see.

❅✦❅

“Arise Sir James, Knight of Novus.” 

Inside these castle walls, a red velvet carpet leading up to the throne, carved from the finest of oak and decorated with the roars of golden lions at its edges, purple banners graced the stone walls, illustrations of the kingdom on the ceiling as if bowing down to their ruler. The king stood before his throne, drenched in the blood of the monarchs before him. But what does his majesty know of guilt?

James knelt beneath him, the sun basking over his silvered armour and chainmail, red cloak flowing behind him, James cast his eyes up at his king, he did not see a ruthless ruler driven by greed but only the power he held. James felt the sharp point of a sword pat upon both his shoulders. To be honored with the chivalry, courage and nobility of knighthood, the words he had waited a lifetime for echoed through the throne room. 

Coming from a noble family meant James had many visits inside the rumoured gates of hell. The stone walls that saw nothing but the greed of its owner. James remembers his own wondrous eyes as he ran through the halls, every now and then bumping into a familiar face. What James had never expected was Sam Wilson, heir to the throne, to be the reason behind stolen kisses and locked chamber doors, silent echoes in the hallways and brief glances across court. His bed of shadows quickly filled with a warm presence, the thought of what may never become turns to a secret. And James would rather that than nothing at all. 

“I hope I’m not keeping you,” Sam’s gaze wanders towards the celebrations inside the grand hall from their view on the terrace, “from _that.”_

If there would ever be a day for a knight to abandon all his honours, a king's feast would do it. The sweetest of wines accompanied by the freshest of picked fruits. The finest musicians with symphonies that would echo beyond the walls, court jesters with the mouths of dragons and a mistress for each of their men. 

Sam had always felt out of place on such occasions. “They are your celebrations, _Sir James.”_ Putting emphasis on his last words, the proudness gleaming in brown eyes.

James offers a spare glance at the madness inside, blood thirsty men on the battlefield now completely undone by a woman's touch, “I’d much rather be here with you than those drunken fools.”

Sam nods, a small smile on his lips as he watches the grey clouds move above them, the downpour of rain pouring over the villages below that stretched for miles. _Impossible,_ Sam thinks, that one day he will be in charge of all this land, their people, this kingdom and all its troubles. He sighs, his breath lost in the wind, feeling James’ tentative hand hovering against his own in the moonlight. He desperately wants to drown in this touch, unable to reach out for something so close yet far away all the same. 

A touch that had no significance yet still comforting all the same, James reaches his hand out to graze over Sam’s royal cloak that flowed free behind him, the dark purple linen underneath his touch, he thinks if he steps a little closer he’d be able to smell the comfort in his touch. James’ own red cloak dancing in the winds as he felt Sam place a hand on his beating heart, blocked by chainmail. 

There are only a handful of moments in James’ life where he swears time had stopped, that the Gods above allowed him a second's mercy between the chaos and wars of the world. Yet here he was, standing in front of the heir to the throne, with nothing but the love of the world in his eyes shining underneath the moonlit castle balcony. 

His breath hitches, wants to lean in, to feel, to touch, to just love. 

“It's not fair,” James swallows back, blue eyes staring deep into brown, “that our love remains hidden behind chamber doors.”

“I know.” Sam’s voice was soft, almost as though he was comforting himself. 

A loud bang from inside the hall, both men jump away from each other. James reaches for his sword, guarding his prince. An eruption of laughter and cheers follows not seconds later. Sam and James share a glance before moving towards the sound, only to see spilt wine on the floorboards and a cheer of men circling around in a dance. 

“What were you saying about drunken fools?” Sam laughs at the sight before him and James thinks it's his favorite sound, how his cheeks rise full with dimples, the burst of joy that would calm even the most cowardly of men. 

❅✦❅

When Sam was younger, he thought his father masked his feelings quite well. That remorse would only cover him in the darkness of his chambers when no one was around to witness that deep down, somewhere in that stone heart, the King knew his doings were wrongful. But now? Well, Sam knows better. That in this game of chess, everyone else is none other than a pawn to his great Majesty the King. You will find no guilt, no sorrow, only pride underneath his golden crown. 

Marbled pillars lined at each side of the throne room, purple banners blowing with the castle wind as light beamed on stone floors, at the end of this grand hall sat the King on his throne. 

Sam strode towards his father, his own smaller yet identical crown comfortable and steady on his head, not as heavy as the burden that goes along with it. He wore a dark blue tunic which hung loosely above his knees, belted tight around the waist and black breeches. By the look on his father's face, this probably wasn't the most royal attire but nonetheless no comments are made. 

“Tell me, Samuel. Should I have these halls redecorated?” His father's firm voice echoed.

Sam looks up at the painted ceiling, the lions decorated at each edge, the marble pillars. He thinks of the coins wasted to pleasing his father's eyes rather than the people in desperate need of food, of water and crops to keep families alive, to put clothes on their children's back and to keep their houses standing through the night yet all his father can think of is if the ground he walks on are heavenly enough for him. 

The pad of his thumb traces the golden band on his finger, an emerald blue pendant based on the middle with scriptures scribbled on the inside- the last he has of his mother, Sam feels it on his skin, a reminder to not let rage overcome him. “It’s as beautiful as it is, Sire. More designs will only make it feel crowded.” 

“Always the insightful one.” The King glances one more look around him before firming his eyes back on Sam. “What brings you here at this early hour?”

Sam opens his mouth to speak, shortly falling closed as he can feel the steadiness of his heart fail to calm him. 

“Well?” His father asks again, “I have councils to attend, I don’t expect you to keep me waiting.” 

“The taxes,” Sam lets out, his eyes elsewhere but the brown he inherited from the King, he keeps his gaze steady on his worn out boots. 

“Collected?”

“No.” And with all the strength he has, still after decades of life he cannot muster the courage to stand up to his father, he tries again but louder, “no. They are not.” 

“Dare I ask why?” there it is again, the ruthless voice that puts Sam back in his place, _nothing but a puny boy,_ as his father would call it. Always running after his approval, does he not know that if thousands of men and a kingdom of people ready to bow to their knees for their majesty could not make the King smile, then what good does Sam suffice? 

Yet one day, Sam will be King. And if he cannot stand up to this current ruler what strength does he have to rule the realm? _Seek for your own approval before anyone else's,_ his mother's voice a sweet reminder. Sam raises his gaze, stands firm and wills himself to not shallow away at his father's gruff tone. “Majority of our people live in poverty, they survive on the very little they have.”

“And we provide them our protection and peace.”

“With all that we have, that is the bare minimum.” Sam clasps his hands together behind his back, levelling his step as he slightly raises his chin. 

“We provide them with wells for water, they give back nothing in return.” His father retorts just as quick, as if that justifies the taxes.

“You can order anything with the snap of your fingers, what could you possibly want in return?” 

The King sighs, the clear annoyance and ignorance in his voice. “My decision is final, Samuel.”

“Have you seen the people, our land? They are struggling with the little they have, we can’t afford to make matters worse than they are.” Sam’s voice was higher, much more than he had ever intended. “Rethink your decision, Father.”

“When you are king, you will understand the sacrifices to be made, my boy.”

“One by one you condemn our people to death so your greed can suffice. That is nothing but selfish actions you pride yourself in calling sacrifices,” the words spit out of him, the boiled anger in his heart rushing to his tone.

With sudden movement, the king steps away from his throne, crowding tall and mighty over Sam, “Are you questioning my authority?” his voice thin with a rising anger.

Sam takes a step back, “no, Sire,” feeling small once again, “I am merely suggesting the better goodness for our people.” Resent crawls its way into Sam’s veins once again, watching as his father smirks, knowing he has always had the upper hand, that itching feeling on his skin as he watches his king step back to sit on his throne.

How easy of a king to make his peers, his own son belittle himself. 

❅✦❅

“Massacres Mercy. And yours?” Sam asks as he weighs out his sword, tightening his grip. Outside of Sam’s chambers, dusk is slowly setting, their shadows surfacing on silk sheets and furred blankets, the curtains slightly drawn around his bed. Sam stands tall and firm in front of James, his belt wrapped tight around his red tunic, black breeches loose around his legs, a daring look in his eyes. 

“Nightfall.” James replies, raising his own now named weapon up high, castillon sword shining by the windows reflection of the moonlight. “Sire,” he bows. “I promise to go easy on you,” he smirks, a teasing brow raised up, rolling up the sleeves of his own white tunic.

Sam scoffs, “for your sake, I suggest you don’t.” he quips back just as fast, “ _Sir James.”_ he mocks back. Sliding one foot after another, drawing out his sword in the little space left of his chambers, watches as James adjusts his grip, “take as much time as you need.” 

Just as James strikes quick, horizontally slicing the air, Sam jumps back, blocking the hit with his own longsword, a small laugh at James’ quickness, “I would have expected more from a knight.” He jokes, blocking each hit James serves.

James cracks a smile, “I wouldn’t want to rid a King of his heir,” bouncing around Sam at the heel of his feet, swinging his sword up high, Sam ducks strike, raising his double edged sword to clash with James’, the sound of screeching steel clashing-

The doors open. 

Sam jumps back, his sword still in his hand as James throws his away, creating a loud clash as it lands on the floorboards by Sam’s bed, wincing at the sound, James mumbels a _sorry_ at Sam’s pointed look and the guards ready their hand with their sword. 

Stood by the chamber doors, a beautiful sight. Tight black curls resting on her shoulders, a blue gown, the colour of Rome's waters, embroidered with the finest details of white roses, a satin fabric following her as she strides in. “Well,” her voice delicate and soft, “now I know why I was never invited to your tea parties.” She smiles at the sight of both men in front of her, their breaths heavy from the sword fight she’d just walked in on. 

“Sarah.” Sam breaths out, dropping the sword from his hand as he paces to her, wrapping his arms around her.

“I’ve missed you, brother.” She whispers into the hug, her voice a little sad at the time that's gone by. “You’ve grown.” Her smile wide as she steps back to study him, the goofy teenage boy she had last seen now a grown man, soon to sit on a throne made of gold, waiting for his presence. 

“Your Highness,” James interrupts from Sam’s side, smiling as he nods at the Princess who returns back the smile, turning to Sam, straightening his figure as he bids him farewell. “Goodnight, Sire.” closing the chamber doors as he leaves. 

“What is it?” Sam gives out, knows that look in his sisters eyes only gives out worry. 

“I’ve heard news. You know how word spreads like wildfire.” She smoothes out her gown, an excuse to not stay still as she awaits her brother's words, she watches as he goes back to sit at the edge of his bed. 

“News of father?” his eyes keep to the ground. 

“Yes,” she whispers. “Word is-”

“He’s the same as always, Sarah. It is not of you to believe the words of people.”

“Word is the madness has finally caught up.” 

A humourless laugh escapes him, looking up at his sister with his eyebrows raised, “and you believe such tales?” 

“That’s why I came to see for myself.” she walks to sit next to her brother, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “and you of course.” 

He nudges her playfully, “what’s that fool got you doing so far away from home?” 

“He’s a good man, Samuel.” She defends her husband, biting back a smile.

“A fool of a man, lord knows what you see in him.” 

“I see a beautiful castle that reaches the sky. A view of the ocean that stretches out for miles. And I get to call it home.” 

“After his gold then, are we?”

“Sam!” she pushes his side, laughing as she does so, “I am not, well perhaps a little,” she jokes. The room around them slowly darkens, the sky outside pitch dark, a breeze of wind swifting into his chambers.

Sarah gets up and walks towards his candles, her back turned on her brother, words slow and cautious. “Father is growing old,” she says, lighting up another candle, “you are soon to take his place.” 

He stays silent, doesn’t look away from his gaze out the window. 

She turns back to him, “if word is true of fathers mental state-” she catches her breath, steadying her noise level. “The council leaders are talking of usurping, Sam. They want you to take over now, before it is too late.” Sarah consoults, hoping her words have made at least some effort. 

“As long as there is breath in his body the throne is not mine to think of.” His voice stern, not so many years ago he remembers his teenage self, worrying of nothing but impressing the noble girls and goofing off with his sword. And now? His worries rely on the kingdom, his land, the people and their wellbeing, the council matters that seem never ending. 

“Sam-”

“Get some rest, Sarah.” he interrupts her words, “no doubt your journey was long and tiresome. We’ll talk in the morning.” 

She sighs a little, a pointed look at her younger brother before she bids him a goodnight and leaves him to his thoughts. 

_No,_ Sam thinks, it is not his take, _not yet._ Deep down, somewhere in his heart Sam knows the words of the people are more probable than false. His father, the king, his values go beyond tradition, beyond rule of law. Sam thinks of the innocent lives lost as his father refused to open his doors to the defenseless commoners at the midst of battle, the ones that died of injury as they were ‘not important enough’ to doctor. Sam thinks of the many his father condemned to death for the pettiest of crimes, as he stood idly with a guilt wrenching in his heart. Sam thinks of the many times his father went back on his word, lying and betraying the members of the court for his own selfish reasons. Sam remembers as he stood motionless, ashamed of what his father grunted out nothing but a ‘tradition,’ to the lost look in his sister's eyes, marrying off to a man she knew nothing of but the gold and army he offered her father. 

His thoughts interrupted by the soft knock at his doors.

Sam shouts over an ‘enter!’ not bothering to take his eyes off the ground as the door opens, ready to tell Sarah his mind has not changed-

“Sire.” A soft familiar voice, a comfort that stills him for a moment. 

“James,” Sam’s tone low, barely audible as he looked to see his lover stood idly by the now closed doors. 

“Apologies. I-” he pointes over to nightfall, his thrown away sword that still lay by Sam’s bedside. “I’ve forgotten nightfall,” he tries for a soft look at Sam’s pained expression. 

Sam offers nothing but a nod, James strides quickly and grabs his weapon, offering nothing but a seconds glance at the prince whose castle of gold couldn’t suffice, James chooses not to pry as he begins to make his way to the door, just as his hand reaches for the knob-

“Do you think I’m worthy of the throne?” Sam’s voice comes in. 

James lets his hands fall to his side, back turned on Sam as he stays still facing the delicate sketches carved into wooden chamber doors. Can already imagine the lost look in Sam’s eyes, the doubt he cannot help but cover himself in. James breathes heavily, closing his eyes to stop the image of a helpless prince he can’t seem to turn around and face. “I think one day, my Lord. You will be the greatest King, Novus has ever had the pleasure of facing.”

There it is, that crippling silence which makes matters worse. What are the words of another worth if doubt has already made itself at home within Sam’s heart? 

As shadows of candlelit chambers and moonlight wind breezes through curtains, James doesn’t hear the soft footsteps on the marble floor behind him, doesn’t see the threat of tears in his lovers' eyes yet he feels it all. As Sam wraps his arms around James’ middle, hugging him from behind, James feels the tire, the guilt, the doubt and wishes the God’s above would only ever bathe Sam in a comfort too good for this world. 

Beginning to feel the heat underneath this red tunic, this room made of gold and luxury with the only comfort of a touch that felt so far away, this, here, his lovers hands softly grazing upon his own, leaning against the strength of a muscular back, the smell of vanilla soaps calming him, this is what felt like a safe haven in all the realms. 

❅✦❅

To see the world on horseback is a privilege Sam will never tire of. The kingdom that stretched out for miles, soon to bow in his name, the patches of wet grass beneath hooves as Sam’s dark brown horse rode steady in the summer heat, In that moment it's as though the world bows to Sam’s senses and he can feel it all. Feel the summer heat on his back, inhaling the waft of fresh morning bakery from the villages below them, the distant echo of children's laughter, the drunks already making their way into the tavern, farmers and dealers trading their way out of a situation, knights readying for the day, visitors slouched back and relax as they make it to castle steps after days of travel, councilmen chattering away with scrolls pressed against their chest. 

Above them all stilled the same sky, a lightness of blue, a bright yellow lining white clouds and if you focused just hard enough, you’d see the small droplets of rain falling, if you focused just hard enough, you’d see the wind blowing through the trees as it did their capes. If you focused your eyes into the abyss, perhaps you’d see the ocean that stretched out for miles, perhaps you’d find yourself searching forigen land, Sam often wanders what lies ahead, what other realms there are, if they are more than bedtime stories to satisfy him through the night. 

“Sam?” James’ voice brings him back down. Sam turns, offers a soft smile. “Are you well, Sire?”

“I’m well.” Sam reassures him, “I’ll race you!” he challenges.

In an instant, both their horses are galloping through the meadow and all that Sam felt is pushed into the wind that blows through him. The harshness that blew through James’ brunette strands, that brushed up on his skin and made his own purple cape run with the wind too.

When both horses reach to an alt at the tip of the hill, the wind is softer, the rain can be felt upon skin and the sun is in front of them. 

“What is troubling that pretty mind of yours?” James cues, slightly turning to get a better view of the prince. 

Sam fakes a smile, “there is nothing troubling me.” his voice almost lost in the wind.

The knight only raises an eyebrow, an unwillingness to give in to Sam’s silence. “With all due respect, Sire. I don’t believe that even for a second.”

“Have you got a tell on all my moods, Sir James?”

“I think anyone who should have known you long enough will have a tell. But perhaps it's just my speciality.”

“Among other things.”

“Among other things,” James repeats Sam’s words with a coy smile. 

The silence beats, like a terrified heart in the ribcage. They should fall out of place any moment and yet they don’t. So, Sam tries, he will try to articulate the heaviness that burdens his shoulders because anyone in this kingdom that will listen is James.

“If I were to become King,” he swallows back the urge to delve into silence once again, “the people, the council, allies and kingdoms alike. They would expect a lot,”

“No one is asking to bare more than you can carry,”

“They will expect a Queen.” Sam sterns, correcting him.

James doesn’t falter, not for a moment that Sam would be able to notice. “You would make a fine husband, my lord.”

“Truly, what are your thoughts?” Sam can’t help but give out a defeated look. 

“My place is by your side, I swore an oath to the king and his people as I will do when you bare the crown. My allegiance will not change. _Truly,_ I think you will find your Queen and she mustn't worry of your loyalty because you will be good to her as you have been good to me. You will take your rightful place on the throne and together you shall reign in prosperity. You will learn to love her,” there is a shadow of pain visible to the eye. “And I’ll watch.”

Sam wants to laugh, dry and humourless, loud enough for its echo enough to reach the God’s above. _As if it were to be that easy?_ For Sam to marry, bare an heir to the throne after him and for the only thing he desires in this world to watch idly, to act like nothing exists more than a ruler and his follower. 

“We struck such luck with our born positions, makes you wonder if this luck would stay throughout our lives.” Sam gets off his horse, patting it gently before sitting by the hillside, casting his view down on the villages that stretched for miles.

“What makes you say that?” James follows pursuit, sitting right beside his prince, not leaving an inch of space between them. He keeps his hand steady by the dagger tucked at his waistline. Sam seems to notice and offers a warm smile, unsure if it's a comfort or understatement. He’ll take both. 

“I was born a prince, you a noble. We were respected before we even knew how to earn it.” Sam begins to explain himself, “we are lucky enough for that position of luxury in life and yet our story is filled with misfortune.”

“Misfortune?” James repeats, like it's a forgien feeling on his lips.

Sam looks as though he’s ready to tell it all, every minor thought and shadowded expressions, instead he shakes his head and smiles a little, mocking himself, “I sound like an entitled fool,”

“Perhaps just a lovesick one.”

❅✦❅

Motes of dusk collected around them as the sunlight shone in their favour, Sam kept his arms around James’ middle, holding on tight as he nuzzled his nose to the nape of his lover's neck, basking in the smell of vanilla soaps and nothing but silk sheets separating their skin, appreciating the calmness of this morning. Realising that in a matter of minutes he would have to leave, creep back into his own dorms, keep glances and flirtatious smiles to himself till dusk set again. 

James sleeps as though the world rests with him, his breaths are slow and inhaled, he leans back into Sam’s comfort, knowing should he need to fall Sam is there for the catch. Sam thinks of the way he has him memorized, the louder snores, restless shifting when he can’t sleep, perhaps it's selfish to think so but he’s glad he is the only one to provide James’ slumber with such peace. 

“Bucky,” Sam whispers by his ears, tracing circles on his forearm with the pad of his thumb. “Morning is almost upon us,” he says louder yet keeping his tone soft, he only gets a small sigh back, he tries again. “I have to go.”

“Not yet,” James says, switching to his side so he’s now facing Sam, his eyes fluttering open. And how could he ask for something more than this? Rich brown staring into his clear blues, like the earth’s soil and ocean has mixed to create something so precious, so glorified. He thanks the almighty above. “Stay.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Then we should run away, so we never have to be apart again.” 

Sam leans up on his elbows, grinning at the suggestion, peppering kisses by James’ jaw and down to his neck, slow and tasteful, if he must leave he will imprint his lips with the taste of James, let it linger till he gets to see, to touch again. “Mhm?” Sam muses, letting his fingers slide through brunette strands. 

“We could go somewhere far from here,” 

“And what would we do?” Sam asks, amusing the idea in between kisses.

“We’d herd sheeps, grow berries and sell them at a market,” he lets his lips linger a while when Sam’s lips meet his own, “make a living,” leans back into Sam’s kiss, “of our own.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, guesses James will say it for him. “But you are destined to be King,” and when the words fall from his lips, Sam can’t help but imagine a life where that wasn’t the case but to delve himself in a world of imaginary scenarios is dangerous, what good does it do but let us yearn for the impossible? 

“I shall see you tonight,” Sam promises, he turns to put on his breeches and tunic, readying to leave before James speaks again.

“Wait. Let me look at you.”

Sam turns, the morning sun is casting a shine onto him, he lets the moment linger, “enough?”

James is not smiling yet the admiration is clear in his eyes. “Never.”

❅✦❅

As hours pass by, council chambers fill and empty, village reports vary, neighbouring kingdoms announcing their visit, Sam cannot help but think of his future, of a kingdom bowing down to his name. 

“Vox populi,” his sister says, “will you make the people feel loved? Or shall their children be raised in similar circumstances.” 

How do you fix years of damage? Perhaps centuries of injustice kings. Does Sam really differ from those before him? Will his smile be soft but words fierce? Will he gain obedience through fear?

But in all the honesty, the prince does not know where to start. And he is craving James’ warm embrace, a reason to fall. 

Sam stood with his eyes in the sun, red tunic and black breeches casting the sunlight in his direction, getting lost in its brightness, unconsciously stroking his horse. His father stood proud and tall behind him, purple gems reflecting onto the gold of his crown as if he deserved such entitlement, “Ethandor’s army are by the millions, do you know what good an alliance like theres would do for us, Samuel?” The king's voice is firm and demanding.

There it is again, his father speaking down on him as though he is nothing but a trade deal.

“Yes Father,” Sam nods, brushing off the dust from his red tunic, getting atop his horse, watching as the Princess Idony does the same a few meters from them, behind her, James, training a much younger knight than himself, he allows himself to smile at the sight. How metal rings of chainmail stick to his muscular form, how the sun basked onto brunette strands of hair falling out of his bun, how he holds his ground as though this concrete were made just for him-

“She’ll make a beautiful wife to you someday,” The King's voice from beside him, Sam’s gaze snaps back to the Princess, now riding towards them. A soft pink gown flowed freely around her body, embroidered with white roses as tight curls fell gently onto her shoulders. 

“Yes Father,” he forces out.

Her beauty is undeniable but she just isn’t James. 

“A gorgeous day for a ride, isn’t it?” her voice is soft with the wind, nothing like the strong security of James’ voice. 

And as though the angels above want to punish his sight for lingering on what cannot be his forever, James strides towards them both, glancing in between Sam and the Princess Idony, both on horseback, his lips tight at the sight in front of him. 

“Enjoy your ride, Sire.” He bows, jaw clenched tight as he forces a smile at the Princess, “My lady,” he nods before making his way back to the training forts. 

As much as he wants to, James does not look back at them riding off past castle gates. 

The weather warm on this autumn's day, scarlet gold leaves falling off their branches, Sam tries to put his focus on the Princess, glancing smiles every now and then, _the kingdom needs this alliance,_ even his thoughts are plagued with his father's voice. 

“It's beautiful here.” Idony speaks up, breaking the silence Sam would gladly prefer, “think I’ve been surrounded by knights and council matters so much I’ve forgotten the nature that surrounds us.”

To see the world from horseback is a type of beauty Sam wants to relish in forever, dreads the day his matters are locked in council chambers and the ruins of a battlefield, where the clean waters he passes by now are nothing but a view from his chambers. _Not many would dread it,_ Sam thinks, the day they become king, take power and rule over a kingdom pronounced as theirs as soon as a crown sits heavy upon his head. 

“I hope you enjoy this ride then, my lady,” Sam adds in his quick reply, fears he left the silence lingering for too long. 

“Idony. It means the Goddess of spring,” Idony’s voice quips in again, the guilt slowly itching at Sam as he can see her desperation to keep in conversation, “or so my mother says.”

“I can assure you, you remain more beautiful than the spring that follows us,” Sam’s smile sincere, his voice sweet as he watches the Princess gush at his words. 

Guilt sits easy in his heart. 

When they reach castle gates again, Sam lets his gaze wander around the ground, searching for training knights, he does not see James there, his attention quickly returning to the Princess Idony as her maid helps her down from her horse. Sam silently curses himself for not being the one to do so, she smiles gratefully as Sam gets off his own horse and walks to her side. 

She straightens out her dress, hands laying flat at where to fall she sets them on his forearm, she sets a quick kiss on his cheeks, whispers her thank you’s and follows her maid pursuit, Sam can hear her whispery voice explaining to the maid the beauties Sam had shown her. He swallows rough and hard, he waves a hand at the stable boy, gesturing that he would take the horses back himself. 

He walks slow, letting the easy breeze wash his skin, watches as the sky darkens and the moon falls upon them once again. Sam will feed the horses before making his way back to the castle, his decision made. 

Sam strides into the throne room with his father by his side, patting him on his back with a proud laugh, loud and obnoxious. “My boy!”

Sam pressed his lips tight, “Father, I have matters to speak of with you.” He swallows, straightening himself up, “privately.” 

With a wave of his hand, the king dismisses the councilmen. “Have you come to gloat about the Princess’ beauty?” 

Sam feels a pit in his stomach, swallowing the urge to speak goodness that is beyond looks, beyond an appeal to the eye. “Much the opposite,”

“Steady your horses, Samuel. We shall feast in honour of our guests and soon your ceremony shall hold in place.” he laughs to himself, “I remember the urge to marry your mother, to put her in be-”

“I do not want to marry her.” Sam’s voice comes out as though he declares it. “I love another,” demands it. 

The King looks at him blankly only to fall into a burst of laughter, adjusting his belt as he does so. 

“You are not mad?” Sam questions his father's laughter, slightly easing. 

“I was once a boy too, I am more than familiar with the body's urges.” 

Sam wants to tell him it is more than bodily urges, that this love is a strength, that this love vibrates on his skin and words will linger and trace themselves until they are a part of him. That his soul has felt rest in the comfort of arms and sound of a voice too precious for this world. But one step at a time. 

“You are still to marry the Princess,” the king laughs stills, a smile forming on his lips as though he can already hear Sam’s argument. 

“I- Father, you just said you understand.”

Another stifle of a laugh, this sound filled with mockery and bitterness. “You want you fun, get a mistress,” 

And how could Sam possibly think his father understands? The same lips that ushered for armies and money in trade for his daughter, how could a man like that possibly understand? 

“I do not want to marry,” Sam shakes his head, denying any thought that isn’t of James.

_James’ smile._

Sam lifts his chin and there’s almost a cunning smile on his lips, with the power of love in his heart, a King can do nought, “you will have to force the words from my mouth.”

_His scent._

“Do not force my hand, boy. I am sparing you by giving such options.”

_His touch._

“I am your son, you cannot force upon me anything.”

_Him._

A laugh escapes the king, a sick joke on his lips, “you are to leave your kingdom, your people because of _love?”_ his laugh is filled with bitterness.

“I am not leaving our people.” And as though James is by his side, Sam feels all the power rise to his chest. “My reign will be of a love you shall never know of,” 

The king's eyes widen, the monster fighting for its release. “You will never prosper with such a mindset. You know nothing of a pure reign.”

“You left my sister at the arms of a stranger so men could kill in your name, you condemned innocent people to death because they would not feed into your greed. Tell me, Father.” Sam smirks, mocking. “What do you know of purity?”

Darkness falls into the throne room, glass windows shining with moonlight, his father's gruff shout ordering for the guards, Sam does not spare a second more, making his way back outside of castle doors, a shadowy figure sat by a haystack, sharpening his sword, Sam will recognize his lover, idly sat as the moonlight reflects onto him, as the breeze pushes his hair back. 

“My Prince,” James sparks up and it sends a rush down Sam’s heart and that’s the thing, isn’t it? Those words can be said a million times by a million people yet to hear them from him, from the man who gave infinite love like no other, it’ll make Sam feel as though he is worth the gold, the purple gowns and ground beneath his feet. 

Sam traces his fingers from James’ hairline, down to his jaw, resting the pad of his thumb on James lips. He will let himself relish in this feeling, the sculptors, painters and poets could never carve their words and materials to accurately describe this. 

_“Do you think the history books will remember us?” Sam had once asked._

_And James’ words were made of the purest of golds, “my love, we will be legends for the children yet to come.”_

True leadership is to have power, land to rule over. And Sam will do so, with love by his side. He’d raise hell from the grounds till the heavens obeyed him, he promises, an oath to the lords above, he will not let this love vanish. 

Pressing his lips on the light softness, letting himself relish in the taste, breaths marching together, hearts sync in one. A canopy of stars and the moon above them, Sam kisses James with all the purity in his heart. 

❅✦❅

Sam had woken with a start, his sister stirring him awake with a pained look in her eyes. Mumbling apologies in the midst of questions in a hurrying mess, clutching her stomach. 

“Sarah? Breathe. Tell me what’s troubling-”

It was the last summer's day when it all went down to hell. 

_“They’re going to kill him, Sam.”_

One of the most painful things life gives you, is not knowing your last day, your last minutes with yourself or another. And Sam pictured his last moments with James to be peaceful, perhaps it would be winter, surviving all the heat waves and rainy days at their old age, by eachothers side. Maybe they’d talk about what they had been waiting for on the other side, or perhaps they’d sit in silence and just watch as the snows filled Novus. The world would be cold, yet they’d stay warm and content with the happy years they lived. 

But happy moments do not mean you are in a fairytale, that was Sam’s weak point. 

“I don’t know, I’m sorry. They- the guards just took him and he’s- _Sam, the things they’re saying about you,_ ” there is a rush in Sarah’s words, her tone indescribable, almost like she's yet to unmask her own emotion. 

At this point, Sam had reached for his outdoors tunic and was rushing out the doors, his vision blurred by the headache of questions, his sister's voice a fading tone as he ran through castle halls, it had felt longer than usual. Pushing open the throne room, awaiting for what he had never expected. 

And there he was, his knight in shining armour a bloody mess on the floor, rope keeping his hands tied behind his back. 

“ _James,”_ Sam’s heart sunk, feeling all the blood in his body still and just as he’s about to run to him he feels the rough touch of hands at both his arms, “what in the hell is this madness?!” he spat out, eyes filled in horror as he struggled to get out of both guards’ hold.

The King, a cold calculating look in his eyes as he sat back on his throne and watched a theatrre performance made just for him. 

“Unhand me!” Sam shouted at the guards, failing to get an upperhand, they tightend their grip as he tried to kick his way out and to just reach for James, his face covered with the wet strands of his hair, the purple bruise still too visible. Sam hurt at the sight, griting through his teeth, already feeling a bruising at his own arms. “On the order of your Prince, unhand me now!” 

“We are on order of the King!” one of the guards barks.

“And are you to disobey your future king?!” Sam spits out, failing by the second. 

A flat unhinting tone boils down the thone room. “A troubling boy, you are.” the King spoke.

“Father, please-” Sarah’s voice now filled with emotion steps in, only to be shushed by the wave of the king’s hand. She steps back, eyes a pool of tears.

The king sighs, pushing back his royal robe behind him as he steps in front of James, looks to Sam with a look that dares him to speak again, he snickers, kneels down infront of the knight and with his index finger lifts James’ chin up. 

“Pathetic.” he spits out, too easily. “What is thought to be our finest knight, have we beaten you down?” A rough breath escapes him, “You commit sinful desires in front of the eyes of your Lord and _gracious_ King. Do you deny these accusations?”

The knight spits blood from his mouth. “ _Gracious_?” he mocks. Earning him a painful kick to the stomach, pinning him down to cold floors. 

_“Stop!”_ Sam screams, managing to get one arm free and immediately tackling to free the other as he runs to James’ side only to be pulled back and thrown so easily across the room. A painful thud at his back. The guards beating down on his legs and stomach at the king's nod of approval. 

An aching pain, Sam felt himself boiling in anger, too hurt and outnumbered to do anything other than rise and fall again at the hands of another. 

A small laugh, filled with an evil to horrid for this world. “You seem rather worried.” his father says. “On my land?! After all I have provided. This!” he points to the fallen knight, “this is what you do?” he spits in disgust, in complete horror of what has become in his very castle.

Sam’s face falls a horrid realisation dawned on him, all too real to deny. 

Sarah had tried her steps towards James, attempting to comfort perhaps but before she could even reach closer, their father, ever the horrid man he was, put a foot in front of her, a look she knew all too well, _don’t even try,_ it read. She had tried anyway. “This is madness!” she shouted. 

A shattering and loud smack glided across her face, the king stenred his hands, taking a deep breath in. Sarah looked up in horror at her father, holding onto her cheek as a choked sob escaped her. 

Was this a game to him? To beat at amusement he seemed to be getting out of it. Sam’s legs, aching and probably broken, tries to stand up. “You touch either of them again and I-”

“And I will have both their heads!” an echo sounding like a look into the future, the King's words hang in the air. 

Bruised, bloodied and broken down. 

It was the last summer's day when it all went down to hell. 

❅✦❅

“It’s blank.” Peter numbs out, letting the book fall to his chest as he stares up at the ceiling.

“Huh?” Ned chips in, clearly not paying attention.

“That’s where it ends.” 

“Dude, what?” Ned quizzes, questioning look on his face as he turns to face Peter from his game chair. 

“There’s no ending.” At Ned’s still confused look, Peter exaggeratedly points to its blank open pages.

“It’s just a story,” Ned shrugs, turning back to his game set. “Make your own.”

It can’t just be a story though, it’s more. The words are etching in his brain and Peter wonders if the world had given up on them? On a love that was so real even words alone made him feel it. 

Had Sam become King? Had the world they knew lived in peace and harmony despite the courpotness they grew in? Did they grow old together? 

Was it real? It had to have been. 

❅✦❅

It shouldn’t be this beautiful, he thinks. 

How the sun shines onto stained glass windows and the summer air is gentle, birds are singing and Sam despises their joy. A velvet red carpet leading up to the throne, where Sam stood, illustrations of angels and the clouds above him. It’s almost funny how the God’s have fooled him this way. 

To catch sight of brunette strands that do not belong to James, to let his eyes linger on chainmail glistening in sunlight, the echoed laughs in a room, blue eyes pure as the ocean. He will find himself looking for James in everyone, he will always be disappointed. 

The chants of his people filling the court, the weight of a kingdom now on his shoulders, searching for the reflection of home in blue eyes, he finds nothing. If the chants had silenced, and the moon had risen in replacement of the sun then perhaps one would notice the shadow of reflection in Sam’s eyes, the somberness that has set its place at home inside of him. 

Sam will wait and he will search and he will hope but James is not here and a kingdom is waiting upon his call. He stands tall and alone, beneath this crown is a broken man even a kingdom couldn’t fix. 

“Long live the king! Long live the king! Long live the king!” 

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me your thoughts!!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr as @justficsandstuff

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Beneath the Crown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944639) by [NivellesArt (Nivelle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nivelle/pseuds/NivellesArt)




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